Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader and always learning; sometimes substitute teaching, sometimes grandbabysitting, sometimes selling books

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry

It is simply uncanny, the timing of my reading of most books and then the tentacled webs of connectivity to other incidents and events in either my own life and/or life in general and on the larger grand plane of existence, locally and more broadly. That I read this book just weeks ago, and got all of this insight into Matthew Perry–truly listening as he, himself, read the audiobook “to” me, and that he then died two days ago is…simply uncanny.

I truly appreciated the honesty and sincerity with which Matthew Perry told this, his, story, and today I am so much sadder for this unfortunate and final result for his life: death way, way, way too young: 54. It just so happens that Matthew Perry and I are the exact same age, he just a few months younger than I and now eternally so.

From here, my review of the book when I read it, no knowledge of what would come so soon and next for this dear old “Friend,” may he rest well and truly, ultimately, be at peace.

While I understand that these are addictions Perry suffered, I am still stunned by the excessive waste of money and rehabilitative care and privilege exuded by his many expensive actions and cannot help but feel like he threw away numerous opportunities over and over again; I know quite closely and well people who would give anything to be given such an extension of life and opportunity–and their health–for much, much less cost or requirement for change on their part.

Over time with these lengthy cats-and-Matthew-Perry-apparently-have-nine-or-so-lives, Groundhog Day-like stories of his returning to rehab only to continue to use, complain about the rules and refuse to follow them, ditch the program, etc., I grew even more weary of his constantly crass language and dismissive treatment of others.

I believe I listened generously to Perry’s story and understand that the core issues stem back to the “unaccompanied minor” status of his existence during his parents’ break-up and their individual abandonment of him. And I heard and understood his honest revelation of his sexual difficulties.

But the steady and gushing bragging–best word I can find–about nearly everything from his giving Chandler Bing his character, to changing the way that emphasis on lines occurred for him and many others from there, to his many cars (gosh, is the green Porsche even the same one as the just a bit later “forest green” Porsche?) and gorgeous views from multi-million dollar homes…just all took its toll on me by the end. A completely reckless–careless–waste, so much of it seemed.

Somewhere along the way (and a very long time ago in the lengthy, sordid, repetitive stories), my willingness to be sympathetic anymore or at all was lost completely. If, at the very end, he is expressing any apologies at all or requesting forgiveness, it is completely lost–for me–by all of the names he dropped and then immediately dragged through the mud, by the crass and constantly cursing language, and by having spent so much time detailing his innumerable refusals to allow anyone to help. He seems to have been a pretty big jerk and over and over again to many. I just can’t feel sorry for him, I am sorry to say.

Really the only thing I “learned” is that Perry’s dad was “the” Old Spice guy of my childhood tv commercials. I see the resemblance. Unfortunately, everything else I learned convinced me that Perry was and wasn’t everything and anything like his beloved and better understood Chandler Bing. That beloved “Friend” is now gone and replaced, for me, by this less lovable actor.

Life is–for many of us–far more fragile and precious than that Perry describes.
And money not falling from the trees or abundantly banked–in much greater excess than need–for lots of us.

I get that his point, ultimately, and which he stated over and over is that none of the things that should have made him happy did, but he spent soooooooo much time painting the extravagant pictures of all that he had–still has–and then so foolishly threw away that I really grew weary…annoyed, actually. The story had no redemptive conclusion for this reader…but now that I have written this, and then Perry passed and not so quietly this weekend…presents more pause.

Like so many others, I am quite sad about his passing. I will not be able to unhear him telling me his story myself…or be haunted by this juxtaposition of events: reading, well, listening to his audiobook in his own words and voice just weeks before he died.

Truly, rest well, Matthew Perry. Rest so peacefully well.

Come back next Monday for another book review!